


The Names We Used to Know | Frerard

by sister2sleep



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Battery City, Blood, Brainwashing, Death, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dystopian, Gore, Gun Violence, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, PTSD, Reminiscence, Tragedy, Trauma, War, Whump, Yearning, danger days
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:56:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister2sleep/pseuds/sister2sleep
Summary: Two years since this world had been taken over by thieves wearing white suits and hollow expressions. Two years since each unsuspecting family was torn apart, innocent people violently ripped away from one-another's grasps.Two years since Gerard Way watched the love of his life getting brutally murdered right before his eyes.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> new fic new fic!! the main trigger warnings for this one are in the tags. obv please don't take them lightly n stay safe <3

Party Poison stands his ground, his back turned against the raging bonfire behind him. The cold bites at his face and the tips of his fingers, sending a chill through his body.

"Two years," he grimaces.

"Two years..." Kobra repeats from behind him, falling back onto his makeshift bed of a jacket and an old blanket.

Poison's heart feels as cold as stone and just as heavy. Within him is a cloak of frost he cannot shed, a mark of fear, branded into him from the inside-out.

"Two fucking years." Jet's voice soars over the sound of the blazing fire as it spits its delicate embers around them.

Two years since this world had been taken over by thieves wearing white suits and hollow expressions. Two years since each unsuspecting family was torn apart, innocent people violently ripped away from one-another's grasps.   
Two years since Gerard Way watched the love of his life getting brutally murdered right before his eyes.

He never did forget the screaming as he watched his lover beg for mercy.

Silently, Poison stands, watching into the vast abyss of the night sky.

"I was in Jersey when it happened," Kobra speaks up. "Visiting our mom and dad. I tried so hard to resist them. I watched our parents getting beaten violently. Two agents held me back." His voice grows tearful and shaky. "I- I don't remember how I escaped. I- I just remember knowing that I didn't want it to end up this way- sleeping by some bonfire, living off canned food in a fucking wasteland. Yet here we are."

Jet sniffles, nodding at Kobra's story. "I was at work when I saw them coming. I hid behind a desk and hoped for the best. I don't understand how they didn't find me after all that searching, but somehow they didn't notice me at all," he sighs. "After they'd left, I knew I had to go. I stole this jacket from one of the display cases in the shop I used to work at and ran for it."

Poison remains quiet, dwelling on his memories of what happened two years ago, the ghosts of his past glistening in his vacant eyes.

"I'm sorry, Gee," Kobra utters, standing up to comfort him.

"Please don't call me that."

"Sorry- I- I know this day's always gonna be hard for you. You _really_ miss him, don't you? I-"

"I don't want to talk about it," he cuts him off.

Kobra timidly steps backwards and sits back down. Jet simply pats him on the shoulder, knowingly. The two know better than to speak to him whilst he's off in his thoughts, distant to the world that treated him so cruelly.

Jet lets another sigh pass his lips. "Well, I'm glad we're all still here. We've lost so many friends along the way, but... I'm happy I still have you guys." He picks up his empty water bottle and lifts it in the air. "So, to us, I guess."

"To us." Kobra smiles weakly.

Poison just nods from where he's stood, as the screams from his memories rattle inside his head.

"I'm getting fucking sick of this shit," Jet continues. "What the fuck possessed these people into turning this world into some... dystopian _wasteland?_ " His voice becomes a low whisper as his eyes shift around the area surrounding them, making sure nobody's listening in on their conversation. Anything negative said about BLI/nd Corp leads to a barbaric execution. Everyone knows that now.

Kobra bounces his leg nervously. "I guess they just wanted everyone to be the same. Some sort of a clean, problem-free world. I've heard they've got everyone in pills in there," he mutters.

"Pills?"

"Yeah, pills. Met this kid out on Guano that was captured. Said they forced him to take these pills once a day. Made him do all sorts of mundanely normal shit, apparently. He only noticed what was happening to him when he accidentally skipped a day on taking them."

"Oh, fuck. That sounds awful."

"They wiped his memory too. Couldn't recall a single thing about The Zones until someone showed him a picture of it. All came flooding back to him, he said."

"How'd that happen?" Jet leans forward.

"Faulty brainwashing system, I guess."

Poison spits. "Sick fucking bastards." His voice is raised. He doesn't care about anyone listening in on the conversation. He doesn't care about much anymore. "Who the fuck decided that we have to conform to all this bullshit?"

"Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to take control of humanity in the _first place?_ " Jet asks.

"I'd rather they shoot me dead than turn me into a Drac or some shit." He turns around to face the other two, sitting up and staring curiously at him.

"Those goddamn Dracs. Seen too many people being forced into those masks. Cherri Cola told me they change your entire perspective on everyone. Turns the people around you into monsters or some shit. That's why they shoot at everyone without control," Kobra huffs. "They don't know what the fuck's going on."

"Has anyone ever... escaped? Like- could they take off the mask after they were forced into it?"

"Never. There's something inside them that kills you as soon as you try to remove it. Happened to Pyro," Poison comments.

"Who's that?"

"Some guy I met down at a gas station one time. There was a raid, and he was attacked and forced into one. Watched his brains get blown out after his friend tried to pull it off him. Tragic, really."

"Holy shit."

He sits down beside the fire, joining the others. "So if you see one, put them out of their fucking misery and run."

"It's crazy what this corporation are doing."

Poison lets his head fall. "I don't even remember how they got to a point where people approved of this shit."

"I guess they just murdered their way to the top." Jet shrugs.

The three fall into an uncomfortable, thought-filled silence, each fearful of being captured by the corporate clutches of BLI/nd Corp.

"Two fucking years..." Poison sinks back, resting his hands behind his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologise for any errors- i didn’t have time to re-type this onto my computer lmfao 

Frank Iero sits at his desk, bolt-upright. From the white cardboard cup in front of him, he takes a small grey pill.  
He places it gently on his tongue and swallows it, letting it roll down his throat and drop into the pit of his stomach.

His desk is neatly organised. Each pencil and pen lined up perfectly with the edge of a protractor; every file stacked and organised in several different shades of grey. No pencil sharpening, rubber shaving or torn up paper has ever made it five seconds on this desk.

One of his colleagues walks past, straightening her sterile-white blazer. “Have you taken your Pill today?” She shoots Frank a hollow smile. Her voice is monotonous- almost robotic. But then again, so is everyone’s voice in Battery City. That’s just what the Pill does to you.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods, smiling back. 

“Good,” she says, giving an unnatural-looking thumbs up. “Have a better day!”

“You too!” Frank replies, before she walks away silently, her empty smile fading.

From his stack of files, he takes the top one and slides it towards him. It travels in a straight, ninety-degree line. No off-centredness or unevenness. A straight line.

He opens it with nimble fingers, careful not to bend or break the card folder. Sliding the top piece of paper out, he examines it.

It’s a simple face, drawn in thick black, contrasting the plain white background.

‘Zone 3,’ it reads. 

Underneath it, in bold letters- ‘Have a better day!’ Frank takes this page out and leaves this to the side, before slowly taking out the pieces of paper below it.

Written upon the pages are Frank’s kills, drawn into history only under the influence of brainwashing and Pills.  
Some of the most renowned killjoys are on this list.

‘Rolling Blackout- shot in the head, 03.12.20’

‘Dead Poet- shot in the chest, 06.2.21’

‘Fever Moon- draced, 07.16.21’

The reports and pages go on, listing Frank’s kills. He’s seen as one of the best SCARECROWS in the unit, amongst the forty-five others that lurk the Zones, waiting in their white suits with their white ray guns, ready to shoot beams of white light at the ‘Joys, killing them instantly. 

He smiles to himself as he reads through the list, despite the fact that, due to the Pills and brainwashing sessions, he is unable to remember killing these people.

He’s empty to these deaths of the people who simply did not want to conform to pills and brainwashing as a way of escapism from the evil in the world.

Empty to the fact that on this earth, Better Living Industries _are_ the evil.

The smiles of the citizens remain empty and forced; the buildings and walls that keep everyone trapped in this rat cage of a city are white and clean. Too clean. Everything, in its so-called ‘right place’- too right for Battery City’s citizens to get off the pills and see right through.

Frank glances at the papers, before placing them back into their designated file and putting it away.   
An alert flashes on his computer screen.

‘FRANK IERO TO HEAD OFFICE’, written in bold, black writing. Below this, written in the same font and colour- ‘HAVE A BETTER DAY.’

He gets up from his seat and makes a beeline to Head Office. He says no ‘hello’s in the corridors, nor shoots any glances at his coworkers. He simply walks in a straight line, just like everybody else, in his usual empty gaze.

The elevator is silent. There’s no music; no noise. Just people stood expressionless, staring at the door, waiting to quietly spill out onto the next floor.

There’s a small ding of a bell, and the doors open. Frank stays on whilst his peers leave, waiting to reach the final floor. 

When he eventually does, he steps straight out into the waiting room, greeted by the false smile of the secretary.

“Mr Iero. The Director has been waiting for you. Have you taken your Pill today?”

“I sure have, ma’am. And you?” He nods.

“Absolutely. I don’t know what I’d do without it!”

“Me neither!” 

He takes a seat in the corner of the room. The mechanical hum of vending machines and oversized computers fills the air. Everything is cold and white- not a speck of dust lies upon any of the surfaces within the room.

Clicks of high heels and black leather shoes tap faintly in the surrounding rooms. Frank taps his foot lightly on the floor, quiet enough for only himself to hear.

Suddenly, the door squeaks open. A woman in grey, sporting a neatly-brushed out black Bob stands at the doorframe. “Come in, Mr Iero.” She bows her head, beckoning him inside.

He stands up slowly and makes his way to the door and into her office.

It’s vast and spacious. Each wall is a window, allowing her to stare into the distance in her anthropocentric gaze. Each wall is white, however filled with notice boards of wanted killjoys and varied methods of torturous brainwashing they should be forced to endure.

She taps her nails against her glass desk. “Iero. You’re probably wondering why I called you up here today.”

“Yes.”

He stands against the wall, a nervous spark jumping his stomach. He’s almost numb to the nerves he should be getting in situations such as these. The Pills have erased that for him.

“Alright. I have a job for you...” She grins menacingly. “I must admit, this one’s bigger than the rest.” 

He tilts his head in confusion.

“But I think you’re _perfect_ for this one.” Her smile widens, her voice almost turning into a small chuckle.

“Oh?” His eyes widen a little.

She takes a breath in and exhales, smiling widely. “Frank. I want you to kill Party Poison.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the errors :( i know this is really bad :(

In all of the Zones, Party Poison is the most renowned killjoy of them all. Of course, there are others- many that have done great for the killjoys and neutrals across the land, but none of them, not a single one, can live up to Party Poison.

The Zone Rats say his box-dyed, bright red hair can be seen for _miles._

The SCARECROWs have been hunting him down for months now, each time with fail. Poison likes to shoot them down and admire his prey. No matter what level of skill, size or agility, he still manages to kill them.

Since the Mad Gear raid the year prior, he’s been one of the most wanted Killjoys out there.

It started out with a crowd of rebels. Mad Gear and the Missile Kid were performing one of their bi-monthly gigs, where Killjoys from across the main three Zones gathered.

It then turned out that some BLI/nd Corp motherfucker had overheard about this, and sent over at least twenty Dracs to take everybody down.

According to many, Party Poison rushed out from the crowd and spotted the attackers before the Dracs had even come within shooting rage. He’d shot them all dead before the time anyone had noticed.

Rumour has it that he’s made it past Zone 5 before. He says it’s like a wasteland of skeletons and empty homes, waiting to be reclaimed by their dead. 

The Zones past number five are filled to the brim with toxic radiation, circulating through every crevice.  
When the Helium Wars begun, areas of land across America were filled out with Gamma rays, leading the human race down the primrose path to the confines Battery City, where they were told nothing could hurt them.

He says he could _feel_ the radiation melting his flesh as he walked past the border into Zone Six. It was the furthest anyone had successfully gotten since Sunshine Gasoline back at the start of the wars. They died of radiation poisoning only a month later.

However, despite many of Poison’s heroic traits, he’s the shell of the man he once was- rotting inside his body, day by day, slowly trying to grow further apart from his past.

Everybody in The Zones seemingly has their own tragedies- friends killed or captured, families torn away from one another. Many have even almost had their own lives taken away.

Many Killjoys believe that once something is in the past, it’s gone for good. Therefore, many have gotten over their tragedies.

Party Poison has not.

It’s said that his screams can be heard across the night; his heart wringing, pounding in his ears, pouring out of his body until there’s nothing left to beat inside his chest.

It’s like however hard he tries to escape what he’d once lost, it forever sticks with him, like a mutation, eating away at him: the sheer agony of his loss.


End file.
